


Red is for Danger

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Bad Sex, Crack, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon decides to seduce Blake. All he wants is sex. That shouldn't be so difficult, should it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red is for Danger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Bad Sex ficathon on LJ.
> 
> The red leather outfit Avon wears was canonically ridiculous (fans dubbed it 'the lobster suit'). At one point the actor had to be helped to kneel for a scene because he simply could NOT. However, the majority of fans all agreed that the tight red leather trousers were really sexy.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Red is a risk, granted, carrying with it connotations of power and blood, which would give entirely the wrong idea. And then there's the possibility that I'll look like a holiday sweet-stick to him. I'd see it in his eyes; he never can hide anything from me there. I don't want to be laughed at, not even silently. 

But subtlety is lost on him. Even black leather liberally decorated with silver studs left him unmoved. If I hadn't compared notes with Jenna I'd think he was straight. Her frustration is even greater than mine. At least I'd managed to grope the big bastard a few times during battles, but he hadn't let her lay a hand on him.

"Put him out of my misery, Avon," she'd said after the third Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster. "I just want to **know** there's not something wrong with **me**!"

No one has ever accused me of being a gentleman, but I must admit the thought of having our ship's pilot even mildly indebted to me is not an unpleasant one. And the thought of having Roj Blake is ... oh, yes, that's nice. The man is incredibly sensual and has obvious oral tendencies. He gives me ideas. And then I go off to my cabin and think about him. And then I am annoyed at myself for not simply propositioning him. Once I've had Blake, then I'll be able to relax around him, and stop thinking about him all the time.

So I give in to necessity, and wear the red leather. It's hot, and uncomfortably tight, and very, very red. I give up trying to adjust the stiff jacket and stride onto the flight deck. As I'd expected, Blake is here, alone.

He looks up. "Avon..." His mouth drops open slightly and the look in his eyes... oh, yes, that fractional instant of hunger is unmistakable. I smile.

"Blake." I come over to the flight deck couch and insinuate myself between his wide-spread legs-the man's crotch display can't be entirely innocent, can it? Still, two can play that game. I stand on the deck with my crotch close to his eye level. Nothing to be seen, of course, not under two layers of red leather. But he knows that I know that he's thinking about it. 

Blake's tongue comes out and wets his lips. I can see calculations going on behind his eyes. "Avon, I can't see the viewscreen."

"Did you want to?" I lift the edge of the stiff jacket just enough to reveal the stiffness under the stiff red trousers. "We're in safe territory. No one is in the vicinity." 

Blake hesitates.

I decide to escalate matters. I pull the jacket off over my head. I... "Fuck." The jacket is tangled around my head and my shoulders are so constricted that I can't get it to move one way or the other. It wasn't that hard getting it on!

"Here, Avon, let me help."

"Please!" It's not exactly what I had in mind, but nevertheless once the panic at the thought of strangulation recedes, I quite enjoy Blake bending me over and pulling the jacket roughly off of me. I straighten up with a gasp; knowing that my hair is usually quite attractive when tousled, and the momentary animal panic will have brought color to my pale cheeks. If I had another second, I'd have bit at my lips, but no sense in overkill.

"Avon." Blake is looking into my eyes, searching for something. I don't know what it is he wants. I never really know what he wants- except that whatever it is, I'm not giving it to him. It's a matter of survival. I need all of me. After a long moment, he nods. "Yes, Avon."

I don't know what question he thinks I've asked, but as he's kissing me before I have a chance to do more than open my mouth to enquire, I'm not complaining. Blake's mouth is good, very, very good. I mutter something about it being put to better use and he laughs.

His laugh is rich, and full-bodied and entirely unselfconscious. And damn sexy. My trousers are even tighter than they were when I walked onto the flight deck. "Well?"

"All right." Blake drops to his knees with more grace than I'd expect from a man of his size and build. Not a great deal more, but more. I'm not interested in dancing with him, so his current level of coordination seems more than adequate to my needs. He puts his hands on my hips and massages with his thumbs. "Nice," he says idly, before putting his mouth to my crotch. He sucks noisily on the leather.

For half a second, and then releases me and falls back onto his heels, gagging and rubbing at his mouth. "That's foul!"

"Well, you're not supposed to put leather in your mouth!" Damn Blake, he spoils everything.

Blake rises to his feet and heads for the facilities just off the flight deck, still making faces and sticking out his tongue. "Don't go," he says. "I'll be right back."

I'm too randy to think of a witty line, which annoys me immensely. Blake doesn't shut the door, and I distinctly hear him gargle and spit, several times. He returns, smelling of mint, and breathing deeply.

Blake is wearing rough cloth trousers, appealingly peaked at the moment. I smile at him. "Let me." I kneel at his feet. Well... I start to. The stiff trouser knees catch me partway down, and I fall off-balance, into Blake's arms, bashing my forehead painfully as he catches me.

"Ow!" he shouts, but holds on. Through gritted teeth (yes, I could hear it) he says, "Ayy Von."

I look up. Blood is dripping from Blake's nose. "Fuck," I say again, clearly, completing the ruin of my reputation for controlling my emotions.

He puts me back on my feet and turns away from me. "Med unit."

I touch my forehead gingerly and follow him.

Once we reach the med unit, Blake takes out a couple of healing pads and tosses me one. I use it on my forehead while Blake treats his nose. We must look like a right pair of prats, I keep thinking. Blake tosses the healing pad aside and frowns at me.

"Strip."

"No." I finish with my forehead and put the pad down. "This is obviously a bad idea."

Blake glares at me. "Avon, you have absolutely no idea how to plan a campaign. I gave you all the rope in the world, and..."

"All I did was get us both well hung."

Blake's lips twitch. "You're not getting out of it with a joke. Get out of those damned red trousers, or I'll cut them off you." He reaches for a laser scalpel.

I don't really think he'd do it. Then again... this is Blake. I start to ... "Blake... the zip is stuck."

Blake growls something that I'm sure I didn't hear correctly and approaches me. I shy away from the scalpel. He grabs me by the back of the neck and kisses me. Well, what would _you_ do? I grab him and kiss back. There is a hiss and I feel my crotch go cold. I yelp, and look down to see that Blake's used a spray lubricant on my zip, and got it down.

I moan. "Don't suck me now, Blake, that's toxic!"

Blake grins and bites at my throat. "I'll just have to fuck you instead." His big hands have my damnable tight red trousers down to mid-thigh. I'm hobbled tighter than Federation security shackles. My cock likes it very much indeed.

"The circulation is going in my legs," I warn him.

"Then you'd better lie down, hadn't you?" 

That's one thing I like about Blake, his total lack of sentiment at the moments when you most expect him to go all soft. No. I cast a covetous eye at the baggy brown trousers. Definitely not soft. I start to turn, but Blake grabs me before I can manage it and manhandles me... nice word, man handles...mmm... yes, well, he gets me belly down across an ice-cold examination table, and then slaps a handful of something cold and slimy between my arsecheeks. Before I finish my protest at this rude treatment, Blake is giving me something warm and firm and I've ... really got nothing to complain about.

I overcome the difficulty of getting a hand between me and the cold table (which is warming, due to the friction of my body being slammed back and forth across it) and take myself well in hand. No need to bother Blake, he's fully occupied.

My legs are dangling, with my feet tangling on the deck, and I'm holding onto the slippery steel table with one hand. Blake lets out a shout and shoves into me so hard I nearly shoot off the table. My balls are squeezed against the edge of the table. I yelp and come. 

When I fuzzily return to awareness, I'm annoyed at myself. Damn it. I've followed Blake yet again.

Blake pulls out of me and pats me on the arse. "Nice." He wipes himself and tucks himself away. "I'll be on the flight deck if you want to argue about this later." He strides out.

"Blake!" I stand up ... and fall over. I'm going to kill Blake. Just as soon as I get out of these trousers.


End file.
